


pretty and bright

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Daptain Strikes Again, Dress In Drag & Do The Horizontal Hula, Francis In Something Vaguely Normal, Honey I'm Home, Honeymoon Sexcapades, James Being Protective, James In A Dress, James In Drag, James Is Gonna Ring Francis's Bell And Earn His Wings A Billion Times Over, Like A Virgin (Hey), Love On Top/James On Top, M/M, Miss Fitzjames If You Nasty, Miss Fitzjames Will See You Now, PWP, Reunion Sex, Scoundrel Sailors & The Maidens Who Adore Them, Subspace Francis, They Made It Through The Wilderness..., bottom!Francis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-10-10 05:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17419622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: Assorted “James wears the Dress” ficlets. No plot here, only the good stuff. Sequel tooh you pretty things.





	1. Chapter 1

Walking into the well-lit front parlor, where a fire crackled in the hearth and the candles in the chandelier cast a soft, romantic light across the room, Francis took a moment to straighten his velvet coat and the bottom of his waistcoat. Once he was presentable, he approached the unknown woman who stood next to the fire, wearing the finest scarlet gown he had ever seen.

Her dark shining hair was pinned up and accented with several gold and enamel barrettes, while a red drop of a gem on a delicate golden chain hung down along her neckline. Although her height made her as imposing as a spinster, the strong shoulders, narrow waist, and lithe hips suggested a fine figure was concealed beneath those rich layers.

“Good evening, Miss,” Francis said in greeting, as he set down his small glass of cider onto the mantle. “I apologize for intruding on such a picturesque scene, but it seems you are the first to arrive on this fine evening.”

“Indeed I am, sir,” breathed his companion, as a pale blush darkened those high cheekbones. “Though I confess I am far too early for such a party. My man must have got the times mixed up.”

“How unfortunate. I myself am not yet fully ready for tonight’s event.”

“Then you are – the master of this house, I take it?”

“I am,” said Francis, inclining his head. “Captain Crozier, at your service.”

The lady extended one black-gloved hand. Her fingers shook slightly as Francis bowed his head and brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles.

“You may call me Miss Fitzjames, sir.”

“Ah, Miss Fitzjames. How lovely to meet at last. Though I must say your reputation precedes you, dear girl.”

The lady produced a black-and-gold fan from her reticule, fluttering it close to her face so it hid the wry twist of her mouth. “Gracious me. Whatever can you mean?”

Idly, Francis raised his bare hand to touch the small of her back. Although her laces were done up and he could feel naught but the silk cord that bound her bodice tightly, this soft tap of his fingers prompted a visible start.

“Why, the nerve of you, sir!”

“I have heard tell that a Miss Fitzjames often frequents parties of this nature.” He slipped one arm around her dainty waist, palmed the deep point of her bodice. “Introduces herself to all the gentlemen in attendance, especially.”

“My goodness.” Miss Fitzjames’s hand rose to bat his away, but only succeeded in drawing him closer. “Captain, you really mustn’t accuse me of such folly. I am naught but a maid, though I confess I am one and twenty – ”

“We shall see about your maidenhood,” said Francis, and pressed a firm kiss to the side of the lady’s fine, exposed neck. She gasped. “My other guests are not expected for another hour, at least.”

“Then I must go at once.” Miss Fitzjames shuddered in Francis’s hold, as Francis nibbled at the lobe of one ear, drew the backs of two fingers down her delicate throat and across her clavicle. “Oh, sir!”

“Stay and play awhile.”

“Why, you must know that I cannot. Such liberties put my name at – _oh._ ”

Francis had already slipped one hand into the front of that beautiful bodice, his palm dipping below the scallops of black lace and velvet ribbon to caress bare breasts. Still dropping kisses across that elegant neck, he plucked at a nipple with finger and thumb, groaned when it stood up at attention in response to such caresses.

“ _Captain.”_ James arched backward into him with a shocked noise. “You are positively wicked!”

Francis hummed out a delighted noise, and let his other hand plunge beneath those dark petticoats. “Dear Miss Fitzjames, you have not seen even a hint of my wickedness to-night. We are entirely alone, dear girl. And I intend to take full advantage of it.”

“Goodness me!” cried Miss Fitzjames, shooing Francis’s hands away, extricating herself, and rushing toward the sofa, tossing her reticule into the floor. “A gentleman would not dare take such liberties with an unmarried lady!”

“When that lady wears a damn scarlet dress and tempts him to fucking madness, he certainly would.”

Stepping backwards, nearly tripping down onto the sofa in her shock, Miss Fitzjames yelped aloud as Francis stepped forward, seized her by the waist and sat down hard, yanking her down onto his lap. They were now half-reclining against the pillows, while she was precariously balanced across the front of his trousers, as if learning to ride sidesaddle on a jumpy horse.

“Oh, Captain, please, you mustn't – we shall be discovered – ”

“Not if you are quiet, dear girl,” Francis growled, before crushing his mouth to James’s; James made a high, desperate sound as his mouth opened to admit Francis’s tongue, writhing and keening against Francis’s lap in his sidesaddle position before he was able to pull away.

“Captain Crozier, you rogue, you ruffian – ” James shuddered again as Francis’s fingers snaked through layers of petticoats, grasped a stocking-clad thigh and traversed even higher to a lace-covered cock. “Oh! Oh, what on earth are you doing? What hardness do I feel beneath me?”

"Jesus God," snickered Francis, entirely as himself. "Really?"

"Yes,  _really_ ," sniffed James, and went straight back into playacting, pitching his voice even higher. "Why, you grow so hard against me - how terribly frightening!"

“As if you do not know the reason, dear girl.” Francis squeezed the hard ridge that jutted up under his fingers; James made a rough, desperate noise, slumping left against his shoulder. “You may technically be a maid, sweet thing, but you have played such wicked games with your past suitors, have you not? Let them plunge fierce fingers into your most secret place, caressed their strong pillars, until you were both writhing in secret delight.”

“No,” groaned James. “Oh, no, I have not. 'M a good – _hm_.”

Francis had already begun to circle one finger around James’s rosebud, sliding it through the mess of petroleum jelly they had slicked here several minutes prior. “Sweet girl. You are soaking wet for me already, yet I have hardly touched you.”

“Please, sir, leave a good girl her virtue – my – my mother will be so angry – I am promised to a fine man of great – great stature – ”

Francis inserted his finger, prompting a shiver and a low wail out of James, who now clutched at the arm between his legs as well as the high arm of the sofa behind them, his head lolling onto Francis’s shoulder.

“Oh, god.”

“Does your betrothed’s stature extend to his most delicate instrument?” asked Francis in a low voice, twitching in his own trousers as he buried his finger up to the knuckle. “Can such a respectable gentleman ravish you as fully or as well as I intend to, here tonight?”

“Nnh!” James pitched forward as Francis sought out that particular spot with a crook of one finger, eyes falling closed. “Oh, Lord, no. He – he cannot – he’s an old man, h - he – I have n – never felt – ”

“I would have you overcome by such raptures.” Francis inserted a second finger, relished the way James’s body trembled in his embrace. “Yes, dear girl, there. Let your Captain show you the ways of the world at last, how wonderful it feels to be joined deep inside.”

“Feels so good.” James was canting his hips now, in a desperate motion, bearing down against Francis’s fingers, though he was not getting all he needed. “Christ, that’s good. Captain, I – ”

“That’s it, dear thing.” Francis buried his fingers almost to the hilt, let James twitch and quake around their girth for merely a second before removing them entirely. “Now I shall drive into you with my cock, set you free of these frightening urges and your last shreds of reason.”

“But I am a maid,” panted James with wildness in his eyes, swooning onto the back of the sofa in visible and very dramatic distress, as Francis pulled him up and into his knees. “I cannot!”

They tussled and played this way for near a minute, Francis kissing and nipping at Miss Fitzjames's lips all the while, before James relaxed himself and became pliant at last. Leaning back, Francis loosened the dress bodice just enough to get James in a seated position on his lap, facing away from him. Once James was seated, Francis was able to fumble at his own trousers and buttons, and free his own length to the night air.

“Oh, oh, you must not dishonor me, you must not – ” James squeaked and bucked up as Francis fixed the head of his cock and slid inside him. “ _Ah, fuck!_ ”

“There you are, love.”

“You’ve – filled me up.” James was already rocking his hips, speaking now in a thready whisper. “I – I’m – ”

“That’s it, dear girl. Sweet Miss Fitzjames. How tight you are inside.”

“God, yes.” James moaned again, tipped backwards till Francis’s nose was pressed into his mass of upswept curls. He took a tiny, shuddering breath, clutching at Francis’s arms. “Francis, please don’t stop – ”

“Yes, let your Captain take you, sweet thing...”

“Harder.” James was riding him, now, his soft moans increasing in pitch and fervor till they were more like little screams, ringing through the parlor and likely out across the entire – thankfully empty – house. “Fuck. Oh, _Christ_ , yes.”

Thrusting up faster and faster, Francis could no longer speak, could only grasp James’s slender waist in two hands as he fucked him, pressing those beautiful silk skirts against his legs and stomach as James shivered and shook and whimpered like a virgin bride.

After several minutes, James’s wordless cries of passion became so loud, in fact, that Francis had to reach up and cover the man’s mouth with his free hand lest they be heard by the nearest neighbors; the second his callused fingers passed over soft, parted lips, James’s entire body seized up and he came hard, spilling in his lacy breeches and grinding down against Francis’s cock till Francis spilled into him, and they both dissolved into a flood of utter rapture.

When it was done, they collapsed back into the sofa pillows, boneless and sated.

“‘M – ‘m faint,” whined James through shallow, soft gasps.

Quickly, Francis fumbled between them, yanked at the laces of the scarlet bodice with clumsy hands. Although he could not get it fully undone, he was at least able to loosen the stays enough for James to take a deep breath.

The man practically melted backwards into his chest in response, curling one arm above his head and stroking the tips of his fingers across Francis’s cheek. Smirking, Francis kissed the soft inside of his wrist, over the point where his pulse still thrummed hard.

“Christ,” James sighed after several minutes, as Francis finally extricated himself and they had resettled, with Francis flat on his back again and James now curled into his side, still wearing every bit of that dress. “Head’s spinning.”

“All right?” asked Francis.

“Better than.” Another loud sigh. “Amazing.”

Although the fire was dying down, it still cast plenty of warmth throughout the room. There was no need to move just yet.

“Mm.” Francis’s nose was still nestled happily into the frizzing mass of James’s curls, with the rustle of soft skirts pressed between them. It was like holding a very itchy blanket in some places, and having the softest sheets pressed to his bare skin in others. He could not help but love the paradox of it. “I quite like Miss Fitzjames, actually.”

“Well. Your Captain’s quite the scoundrel.”

“Aye, he’s rather forceful,” murmured Francis with a smirk. “Must be that saucy dress.”

“Then perhaps he should not see what the lovely Miss Fitzjames wears beneath her skirts.” A smile was already brimming in James's voice. “T’would drive him absolutely wild.”

“Fucking hell, James.” His cock twitched lamely against his thigh, though Francis was still too spent to do anything save groan in half-pleasure, half-pain. “You’ll be the bloody death of me.”

“You started it,” said James very smugly, and grasped for Francis’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James and Francis test out some tender honeymoon sex.

The knock, tentative and quiet, came at a quarter to ten.

“My dear? Are you awake?”

Standing next to his crisply-made bed, in the middle of his evening toilette, Francis turned just in time to see a tall, pale-dressing-gown-clad figure tiptoeing into his bedroom, wreathed in white with a single candle held in one hand.

“I do not wish to disturb you,” James said in a soft voice as he placed the candle onto the nearby table, next to the lit lamp. “Only I am – rather unused to this house. Bit silly.”

“No, no, it is quite all right.” Francis cleared his throat, beckoned James forward with a hand. His role in tonight's theatre required him to be as understanding as a Captain, if much less reserved. “We have only just arrived as of this morning. And our journey was rather long.”

“Yes,” said James, ducking his head as he bit his lower lip in feigned nervousness. “The wedding breakfast seems ages ago now. But I also – I wondered if I might – come to you tonight.”

“Sweet thing.” Francis did not have to strive to make his voice tender. “You are not tired from the day’s travel? I should never be cross with you, were that the case.”

“Oh, well, yes, of course I am tired.” James tugged now at the thick plait of his hair, long enough now so that the tail of his braid hung at least two or three inches past his shoulder. It was such a novelty to see his hair done up like this; Francis’s fingers itched to touch the plaited strands. “But I am also – we have waited so long for this day and I – in truth I do not know if I can wait much longer.”

“Can you not?” asked Francis, eyes now roaming over the still-tied dressing gown.

“You were away so long, dear husband,” James rounded the bed, letting one hand trail across the still-pristine covers. “And I have missed you.”

“Well, unfortunately that shall not change, now that you have married your sailor,” Francis unbuttoned his shirt as he spoke. “As I am always going off to – to – ” oh, damn it, where was it again? “The, ah, place you mentioned before, which was… ?”

“Jamaica,” trilled James in a sing-song way.

“That’s it. Jamaica. Lots of, erm, sugar. To bring back for your – tea.”

“And as promised, I have remained as sweet and chaste as the day you left.”

Francis cleared his throat to disguise a laugh; instead, he stepped forward and pressed a hand to James’s cheek. “You're a good woman, my dear.”

“Oh, darling.” James leaned into the caress before stepping to one side, as his hands moved to the edges of his dressing gown. “I so wish to be good for you tonight.”

Francis had forgot what he was meant to say in response, but it was no matter, as James opened his gown to reveal a stunning white satin negligee, threaded through with silver brocade. Under the candlelight, the garment shimmered like a thousand stars against James's olive skin.

His body reacted before his mind did, and so he could say nothing for a few seconds, merely stared and appreciated the gorgeous sight in front of him. Thankfully, James did not seem to mind, and just gave a gentle laugh, casting a knowing glance at Francis before he took up the image of the shy young bride once more.

“Do you like it?”

“I bloody adore it.” Smiling broadly, Francis threaded the distance between them, and led James to the bed with both hands. “Come, come. Sit next to me, my love. We will cross this next path together, at our leisure.”

“Yes. All right.” James still would not look him in the eyes as he gingerly took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I am so nervous to kiss you properly, you know.”

“We have kissed before.”

“Oh, yes, but I – ” and all at once, James made an irritated noise, sat up straight, and let out a great gust of a sigh, blowing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “Augh. Too damned virginal, sorry.” 

“Want to skip forward a bit?” asked Francis, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes. Here. Start on your back, I’ll pretend not to know what I need, and you’ll instruct me – and be very specific.” As James moved up onto the bed, and rolled onto his knees, he gave Francis an appraising look. “That all right?”

Now Francis was the one feeling slightly bashful, as he gestured down to his still-hard cock. “Working very well, obviously.”

“Good.” James gave him a wicked smile that was all teeth as Francis crawled up the bed, turned onto his back, and opened his trousers.

It was not until he had shimmied his smallclothes down his legs and James had settled his weight across Francis’s hips that they assumed their old roles again. James’s entire body language changed, and he draped Francis’s arms over his arched lower back.

“How – shall I go about it?” James let out a soft sigh. “Tell me what to do, my love.”

Francis cleared his throat.

“You must – ” without warning, James shifted his weight, causing Francis to groan in anticipation as the full mass of James's body rubbed against the head of his cock. “Guide me into you.”

“This way?”

Leaning backwards, James reached between them with a practiced hand. Instead of lining Francis’s cock up immediately, he toyed the head up and down the soft cleft of his cheeks, as if merely experimenting.

“Yes.” Francis sucked in a sharp breath, felt his hips jerk. “Oh,  c - careful.”

“All right?”

“Hm.” He took in another breath. “Yes.” 

Francis had to focus his energies on  _ not moving  _ for several seconds, before he gave James a nod of assent.

Lining him up, and allowing Francis to thrust in oh so slowly, James let out a sweet sigh as they finally joined, shifting his hips as if he were trying to become accustomed to the sensation of being filled.

“Oh, my love.” Leaning down to brace both hands against the bed, he pressed a soft kiss to Francis’s parted mouth. “It does not even hurt. I feel – ” he slowly rolled his hips forward, and shivered all over. “Stuffed full of you. Incredible.”

Francis palmed James’s bare hips, brushing the pad of one thumb across the soft skin before James reached down, pulled his hand away and threaded their fingers together.

“Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.” He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Francis’s palm as he wiggled his hips once more, clearly savoring the sensation of their being joined. “Come away with me.”

Francis found himself inexplicably moved by this picture of quiet delight, and had to blink back a sudden rush of tears. How should he be so lucky, so damn lucky, as to have James here with him? To be together this way, alive and at home, with no secrets or shame between them?

“Francis?”

James had stilled on top of him, now glancing down with something like concern.

In the meantime, a bright streak of water had threaded down Francis’s cheek; he reached up to swipe it away. 

“‘M so damn lucky you’re mine.”

His lover’s mouth opened in surprise. “Sweetheart.”

Guiding James’s body down so they lay completely flush together, Francis kissed him, long and soft, and urged him into motion again, pressing his forehead against James’s heated cheek as they rolled their hips in undulating, languid strokes. 

“You’re perfect,” he kept breathing, over and over, unable to stop talking. “Beautiful and darling and perfect. I love it – love you – love – ”

Sighing, James arched into him, and soon their slow, staccato breaths hitched into loud encouraging gasps, wordless and wild, completely in tandem. When Francis crested the peak this time, he had almost no warning for the fall; one minute they were moving together in a blissful haze of focused sensation, James panting wantonly in his ear and clutching fast at his shoulders, innermost muscles squeezing indescribably tight around his cock, and the next Francis was coming harder than he could ever remember, shuddering and grunting and breaking apart under the force of the great wave that toppled his entire body.

“Jesus – fucking – Christ,” he huffed, when he finally came back to himself. Everything from his neck to his toes throbbed with sparks of delight. “Wh – what the hell just – ”

Although James had already rolled to one side, Francis’s stomach was still wet with James’s seed, and James appeared equally bowled over by the finish.

“D – dunno.” Shivering, James brought a shaking hand to his face, pushed damp locks of hair away from sweaty temples. “Fuck.  _ Francis. _ ”

“Can’t even bloody – move.” Even flat on his back, Francis’s legs and stomach still twitched with the aftershocks. His mind felt as sharp as a windblown sand dune. “James, that was – that just – ”

James let out a hysterical sort of noise: half-laugh, half-groan. “Mm hm.”

“We’re fucking doing that again,” concluded Francis with another groan, and collapsed back into the pillows.

Crawling closer so he could lay his head on Francis’s chest, James tossed an arm across his middle. “No wonder married people take such long honeymoons.”

Francis wanted to say something hilarious and cutting in return, but his brain was already shutting down in favor of sleep. His eyes were heavy, his body was relaxed, and James was warm and cheerful beside him.

“C’n you get the candle?” he mumbled.

“Yeah.” James pulled away; a few seconds later, the world went dark, narrowing down to the sensation of James’s bare body against his as his Second climbed back into bed, and the thick, warm comforter that now covered them both. 

“G’night,” Francis murmured, already half-asleep.

With a smile audible in his voice, James moved up the bed, kissed his cheek, and brushed a piece of Francis's hair behind one ear. 

“Goodnight, sweet husband.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stuck on my next dress fic, but luckily **kami** 's Fitzier zine submission [fanart](https://www.patreon.com/kamidraws/posts) gave me a DELIGHTFULLY hot prompt.

Although visiting Ross and his family in town had been an enjoyable experience, Francis still sighed in audible relief as his carriage neared the house after a fortnight spent away.

Occasionally he marveled at the fact that James had turned him from a mere curmudgeon into something resembling a country recluse, but in times like these, he wondered why they had not made such a retreat from high society much sooner. London was so crowded and noisy and unbearably snobbish compared to the serene calm of Hertfordshire. And beyond that, lodgings at Ross’s were no longer as restful as they had been in years past.

Since Francis’s godchildren were still quite young, the Ross house was now a whirlwind of frenzied activity even on the best days. Little Jim, the eldest, was not yet ten years, Robert was a toddler in short pants, and the two sisters between them spent the majority of their time giggling over storybooks, staging very elaborate plays with their dolls, or pretending to be pirates.

The latter was Francis’s favourite game. Seven-year-old Anna had promptly named herself ship’s Captain, Ross became her efficient Commander on account of having the best hat, and Charlotte their chief surgeon, as she’d recently got her cowpox inoculation and could best imitate their ancient doctor. Francis himself had meanwhile been relegated to the post of lowly deck-swabber, a very dim boy named Charlie who eventually perished in a tragic holystoning accident.

He was also ordered to style his Captain’s hair multiple times as punishment for committing some heinous but unnamed crime, a sentence which Ross had found utterly hilarious and had enforced with swiftest speed, giggling so much he could hardly choke out the words _curling tongs_ between Robert’s persistent, headache-inducing drum-beats on an old copper pot.

Overall the visit had gone far better than originally expected. But oh, how Francis ached to be home. He had missed James far too much in the meantime.

Anticipating the modest comforts that soon awaited him – a relaxing dinner, perhaps a bath, and most of all, a good night’s sleep – soothed Francis’s raw nerves as the carriage finally slowed to a stop, and the footman opened the cab door.

Stepping outside and stretching deeply to mitigate the low, pulsing ache in his back and hips, Francis paid a few coins for the lad to carry his trunk into the hall and promptly sent the carriage on its way, waiting until the crunch of wheels and the strike of hooves against gravel had faded before removing his greatcoat and taking further stock of his surroundings.

The foyer remained empty even after the carriage departed, signaling that the servants had most likely taken their usual evening off in preparation for Sunday services.

It did not, however, answer his most pressing question.

“James? Hello?”

No response from upstairs.

Stepping into the kitchen for a glass of water, Francis spied a full plate sitting in front of his usual chair, underneath a domed glass case that Mrs. Hatherton typically used to cover cakes or pies. A full cold supper had been laid out for him as recently as several minutes ago, judging by the freshness of the spread: it included cold meat, cheese, fruit, and a large hunk of bread and butter. And sitting just above the silverware was a small object covered by a tea cozy; Francis lifted this article to reveal a hot cup of cider – still steaming – along with an old placecard from some unmemorable past occasion, which had been re-folded and now conveyed a hastily-scrawled message.

> _Eat, drink, and be merry, dear Mr C._ _  
> _ _Change once you’ve finished._

 

Unsigned.

Well, well. James clearly had a grand plan in mind tonight.

Intrigued – and more than a little hungry, now that he considered it – Francis sat down and made quick work of the food, eating all but a few lone grapes. Once he was through, and had deposited the plate into the sink, he took his now-half-empty cider and the placecard up to the first bedroom on the left.

This was his own, for all intents and purposes, although he rarely slept in the damn thing. Mostly he used it as a changing room.

The bedchamber was exactly as he had left it, save for a few notable additions.

On the low dresser, a large, battered metal teapot sat over a lit single-candle burner which had been placed next to his basin. Nearby, his spare dressing gown hung over the towel rail, freshly washed and ironed, judging by its appearance. And a second placecard bore another set of instructions.

> _Wash up at your leisure – plenty of hot water to aid you._

 

True to form, when Francis poured water from the teapot into the clean basin, steam rolled over his face like a wave coming in at high tide.

And then he laughed.

Trust James to think of everything.

It took him several minutes to remove his traveling clothes, and to scrub the remaining coal, dust, and detritus from his face and frame, but Francis did not rush the process. Nor did he neglect the water, which only became hotter with every successive measure that was poured into the basin. By the time he finished bathing, his damp hair stuck up in several different directions, his skin was pink and gleaming, and he was positively flushed from the heat, even standing naked amid the cold air.

Donning his dressing gown, he went in search of James next, stopping first in the upstairs parlor – which was empty – and then in James’s bedroom at the end of the hall.

Once he opened the door, it became clear this was his last destination.

A roaring wood fire crackled merrily in the hearth on the left side of the room, while a variety of tallow candles burned bright along the long sideboard facing the doorway, illuminating several gilded pictures and the artful decorating touches all around them. James’s small collection of jewels had been strategically placed along the surface so that a few stray gems caught the dancing light. Several scarves also decorated the various paintings, mirrors, and other plain surfaces, so the bedroom looked less like a gentleman’s private chamber and more like a Shanghai bordello.

To the right of the doorway, on the steamer trunk at the foot of the bed sat James. He was artfully posed in full costume with his scarlet skirts flung out all around him, so that his black-stockinged feet and shapely ankles were exposed. The plunging bodice of his dress accentuated and heightened the slight curves of his usually flat chest, while its handsome laces showcased his narrow waist and lithe hips.

A burst of warmth sparked high in his chest as he and James locked eyes.

“Hello there,” said Francis with a hum of appreciation.

“Oh, hello,” returned James in a high, arch voice – a clear sign that he was feeling rather rambunctious, if the first three had not been so jarringly obvious. “Well, now that you have rented us a room at last, what do you intend to do with me, sir?”

Francis raised an eyebrow at the challenging gambit.

“Hmph.” James sniffed loudly, feigning impatience. Like a madam with a rakish customer, or perhaps a needy wife whose husband could no longer bed her. Francis was not quite sure which character he was playing tonight. “Perhaps you intend to do nothing at all, and desire a lady to bed you.”

“I – could be persuaded to let you lead, madam,” said Francis carefully, although they both knew that when James acted the bawd, he intended to have his own way at all times. The back of his neck prickled with excitement at the thought of being bossed about. “If it would please you.”

“Oh, that would please me awfully, Captain.” James rose to his feet, tossed his long hair the same way a willful stallion might buck at being saddled and ridden, and gestured to the four-poster with poorly-disguised glee. “Very much indeed. Lie on the bed, then. Naked and on your back. I’ll have you at least twice tonight, so you had better hurry.”

Grinning, Francis obeyed this order.

Without fanfare, he stripped off his dressing gown, settled in the middle of the bed, and leaned backwards, so his weight was distributed on the heels of his hands.

“Lie down,” urged James again, soft this time, and in his own voice.

Francis quirked him a mischievous look, and shook his head no. “I want to see you.”

“Tsk tsk.” James’s smile widened and bloomed into a Cheshire cat’s smirk. Reaching behind, he loosened the dress bodice, fingers slowly working at the laces till the gown gapped slightly in the front. This done, he pulled off his black satin gloves, finger by finger, till Francis’s nerves zinged with anticipation. “What shall I do with a man who does not mind what he is told?”

The sight of James’s sinuous body in that striking gown never failed to arouse Francis, though he was still tired from the day’s travel. He had to clench his hands into loose fists to keep from touching himself.

_Patience._

“Teach him a lesson, I think,” trilled James as he pulled his skirt and frilly petticoats up past his knees, and untied the pale ribbon that held his stocking in place, letting dark silk glide down one knee and over his shapely calf as he pulled it slowly off. As he untied the second stocking, he glanced up at Francis’s body through dark, hooded eyes. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes.” His mouth began to water as James pulled his hair down and came to stand beside the bed, running the flat of his palm up and down the coverlet without ever touching Francis’s bare body. He wanted very desperately for James to kiss him. “I’ve been very bad.”

“You have, my love.” James threw him an exaggerated pout as he stepped out of his petticoats, and flung one of them clear across the bed. White lace and cotton soared through the air before crumpling lightly against the wall, like a broken meringue. “Left me cold and alone for nearly a fortnight.”

“Have your way with me, then. Do whatever you like. I’ll bear it all with pride.”

“Hmph.” With an artless shrug, James hopped up onto the bed, reached up beneath his usual pillow, where they always kept a tin of salve, and opened it, greasing the pads of his fingers before rubbing index finger and thumb together – as if he were merely going to moisturize his nails. “Pride, I do not mind. It is prudishness I cannot bear in men.”

“Rest assured I am a prude no longer,” Francis replied drily, one eyebrow arching up despite his best efforts to remain serious. “Not since meeting you.”

“Good.”

Smiling in earnest now, scooting forward on his knees, James touched slick fingers first to Francis’s throbbing cock, curling them around the head and letting them linger only for a moment before he trailed them downwards.

 _“Jesus God,”_ gasped Francis at the contact – overly sensitive already.

He had not possessed the energy even to please himself during his time away, particularly after spending most of his days as a living climbing apparatus and utterly undesirable grump who dozed off in chairs shortly before dinner. And it was not until he had eaten and bathed that he felt remotely like himself again, a man ready to be claimed in the flush of passion.

Clearly, James had anticipated this. His hands continued to tease, mapping over the seam of Francis’s stones and the creases of his thighs as he slowly charted the road to his next destination. After what seemed like ages, he moved his fingers lower and circled Francis’s tightly-furled rosebud with slow, purposeful movements.

Tipping back onto his elbows, Francis grunted low in his throat, hands fisting the coverlet.

“Ah, I see what you want. You cannot hide these things from a lover, nor should you do. Tell me, shall I work you open with fingers or tongue first?”

Even imagining these options had Francis stupefied with desire. He fumbled for James’s hand, meaning to direct him, and only ended up grasping his wrist with three fingers.

“James.”

“Goodness. You are a wild thing tonight, aren’t you?” was all James said in answer, tracing aimless patterns over Francis’s stomach and thighs with his left hand before he urged Francis to lie down fully.

Relaxing against the mattress, Francis let out an appreciative sigh as James lay down fully on his stomach, and bent his head to swab the lower deck.

At the first swipe of James’s tongue around sensitive flesh, Francis’s head tipped backwards into the pillows, and his hips jerked up, hard.

“Ah!”

The intimate contact was made all the more erotic by the fact that James could not stop groaning against him as he worked; his free hand now flailed for purchase somewhere around Francis’s right hip, nails digging slightly into the skin.

Francis hissed and whined against the added stimulation. “Don’t tease,” he finally choked out. “Not ladylike.”

This got James’s attention; he raised his head, swiped at his mouth with one hand, and raised both eyebrows in amusement before slicking up his fingers once more.

“Why, I have never claimed to be a lady, sir. Only a knowledgeable woman.”

With this, James thrust in one finger to the hilt; Francis shuddered against the fierce pulse of desire that thrummed throughout his body.

“Yes. Slow, now. Oh, god, like that.”

At first, the rhythm James set was so gentle it made Francis clench his teeth together, lost to the sublime agony of his lover’s touch.

“I adore fucking you this way,” whispered James, causing Francis to shiver again and cant his hips against the desperate need surging hot in his belly. His cock twitched anew against his thigh, rising up full and proud as the tips of James’s fingers curled against that secret little spot, deep inside him. “So pliant and soft and just – utterly – gorgeous – ” all this matched to the rhythm of his thrusting “ – should have you like this every night.”

“Christ, James.” Francis could not think amid the red haze of desire slowly enveloping his vision; he needed _more_ and could not remember how to get it. “Please.”

“Yes? Did you want something else?”

“You bloody well know what I want,” snapped Francis, though there was no venom in it.

“Tell me,” said James with a huff of breath, pursing his lips as if he were completely unaware of Francis’s true meaning. “I would have you speak, sir. Murmur it into my ear like a filthy little secret.”

“Your cock,” whispered Francis through a renewed flush of heat, as James’s fingers curled upwards, stroked him deep inside before slowly pulling out. “In me.”

Lifting his skirts and showcasing his bare lower body just for a moment, James moved forward and settled himself between Francis’s legs, slicking himself up and guiding his head till it rested just against that pliant, ready entrance.

“And what shall I do with my cock, hm? Once it’s inside you?”

With a slight laugh, he thrust forward against Francis’s body, although he did not push in just yet.

Francis’s eyes fluttered closed of their own accord as the head of James’s instrument teased up and down and over his ass, never quite catching in place.

“Fuck me, James.”

When he opened his eyes again, James was staring at him dead-on. Both pupils gleamed like dark stars in the flickering candlelight, and the tip of his tongue had darted out to wet his lips.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me,” Francis breathed, louder this time, so the words echoed through the room. Throughout the house, even. “Now.”

Without further ado, James guided himself into position and pushed home in one smooth stroke, causing Francis to buck and shudder under him.

“Oh!”

“That’s it,” James whispered in a low voice as he began to rock his hips, careful at first, then faster and faster, wrenching a ragged moan from Francis’s throat. “Lovely, my darling. Christ, I’ve missed you so much, Francis, missed seeing you – touching you – _fucking_ you – ”

As their hips slapped together, the strike of flesh against flesh and the familiar squeal of bedsprings was an obscene and wonderful music to Francis’s ears. He could hardly speak; all he could do was move. His fist closed desperately around his own cock, the urgency of the moment overtaking his sense and his residual exhaustion at long last.

Groaning at the sight, James leaned forward for better leverage. Here, he ran one hand down Francis’s side till it rested on his bare stomach, rubbing and kneading and teasing the jumping muscles of his abdomen while his other hand nestled in the hinge of Francis’s knee, lifted his left leg higher and hooked it over one beautiful bare shoulder. Once here, he deepened his thrusts, moved faster and faster till Francis whined in open-mouthed delight, frigging his cock hard with one hand and fisting James’s skirts in the other.

“Can you come this way?” James was panting from concerted effort, now, sweat misting on his forehead and face as he moved. “Want you there first.”

“Close,” Francis choked out, as James thrust against the place that made his toes curl, once, twice, again, too many times to count. “Jesus God, James, ‘m close, so close, ‘m –  _fuck_ – oh, fuck – ”

“Come on, love, come for me, sweetheart, just there, come on – ”

Francis’s entire body seized up as the wave overtook him, and when he finally washed ashore, spent and shivering as violently as a man thrown overboard in a storm, James was embracing him, petting his hair and his still-heaving chest and nuzzling into the junction of his neck.

Gasping for breath, Francis couldn’t yet put words together.

“God, that was good,” sighed James as he sat up. His voice sounded oddly distant. “Needed it like mad.”

“Nnh.” A worn, ragged laugh slipped out from Francis’s throat as his body and loose limbs continued to twitch and jerk. Felt like James was still kissing him all over, laving soft touches of his mouth and little swipes of his tongue up Francis’s sides and stomach. Was he? Felt bloody amazing, whatever it was. “Fuck.”

“Satisfied?” James asked as he stroked two hands across the planes of Francis’s chest.

The smile was audible in his deepened voice, although Francis could not quite see his lover’s face in this light.

“Mm hm. Don’ muss your dress,” Francis groaned as James repositioned himself, draping himself fully across Francis’s body with both arms wound around his shoulders. “‘S your favourite.”

“Tisn’t,” murmured James after a pause, and kissed his neck, then the cleft of his chin, then dropped a soft kiss against still-parted lips. “That honor belongs only to the dear man who bought it for me.”

He tasted of salt and musk and mint tooth powder. Francis sighed against his lips.

Pulling back, James said something else Francis could not quite hear, but it was no matter. They were together again, warm and comfortable and tangled together in their own bed in their own home. Nothing could possibly be wrong.

Hmph. Tangles. Francis huffed out a short laugh, although by this point he was so tired he could not quite remember what had struck him as funny, or why he wanted to tell this to James. Nor could he keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. The world kept going dark and fuzzy around the edges, in and out, and he could not rouse himself.

“Oh, love.” James’s voice had gone soft. “Sleep, if you like….not expected till the afternoon...”

“Mmkay.”

Warm and sated, with the scent of lavender soap still on his skin and the soft touch of James’s fingers scratching across his beard and his temples, Francis nestled his nose into the mass of tangled curls that played over his jaw and surrendered to the pull of sleep, happy and home and safe in his beloved’s arms at long last.


	4. Chapter 4

Their more aggressive playacting had all started with an innocent question:

_ Tell me how you came to know this part of yourself. _

How Francis found out he enjoyed playing at the molly.

And so Francis had relayed, in fits and starts, the entire ridiculous tale to his Second, giving it as directly as he could, though he was still unable to voice some of the smallest details—the way he’d gasped when pressed into a luxurious bed face-first; how fiercely he’d trembled when Sophia had pinned him there with her full weight, still wearing all her outdoor layers—and how much he had craved the contact of skin on skin when she wrapped both arms around the sliver of Francis’s bare middle exposed by his rucked-down trousers. 

On that occasion, she had promptly fucked him senseless with slick fingers, brought him to resolution no less than four times in twenty minutes  – twice without even spending! – and had merrily swept downstairs to have tea with her aunt and uncle immediately afterward. Leaving him stunned, shivering, and hiding in her bedroom alone, like a little trouserless mouse. He’d almost been discovered by a chambermaid.

_ Stupid, really,  _ he’d remarked to James at the time, blushing under renewed scrutiny.  _ I mean, obviously I wasn’t any good. Just—rather surprised. Erm. She returned later, after the tea, and we were able to—I did try to ensure she was— _

_ Francis,  _ James said after a long moment, oddly quiet,  _ if you relay another word of this beautifully sordid tale without letting me have you, I’ll lose my head entirely. _

And then he’d smiled, wide and unassuming, touching one side of Francis’s hair in a manner so tender that Francis’s stomach clenched with anticipation. 

They had since developed a shorthand, in order to prevent potential miscommunications. Should Francis ever wish to be taken by a strict little minx, all he would have to do was go to James’s desk sometime before supper, open his journal, and draw an anchor in the corner margin, followed by a time.

Today, passing by James’s empty desk, Francis picked up the green fountain pen and hefted its weight in one palm before dipping it into the inkwell and scrawling out a quick sketch and  _ 2100 h _ onto the left corner of the current blank page.

This done, he replaced the pen back in its inkwell.

After a leisurely dinner at the usual hour, Francis prepared for bed, going through his toilet and getting into his dressing gown with extreme care. Although he and James had acted as if nothing was amiss at dinner – and had spent the majority of the meal trading barbs about a new Admiralty-related item in the gossip column – Francis knew that this carefully-crafted illusion would soon be burst as quickly as a soap bubble.

He had just hung up his hand towel when James waltzed in, clad in a practical day dress, sky-blue in colour, with his hair pinned up into a simple knot. Francis knew he could not look at the man without betraying his obvious need, and so he did not even turn around, merely pretended to straighten up the blankets at the foot of the four-poster bed.

“Miss Fitzjames?”

“Captain Crozier. We keep rather late hours, do we not?”

“What on earth are you doing here?” Francis fussed with the tie of his dressing gown to keep himself from acting on impulse. He wanted to cup James’s slender waist in both hands and rest his head on James’s shoulder. 

“Well. In truth, I grew tired of playing whist with my dear cousins. As you must have tired of conversation in the drawing room. Truly, those old men can be frightfully dull.”

Francis did glance over, now, saw James’s dark eyes tracking his every movement from across the room.

“You should not be here. We – your father will – ”

“There are many things I should not do,” countered James, with a saucy swirl of his skirts, “and yet, I cannot help but notice I remain here, in your private quarters, with my parents nowhere in sight. Will you not take advantage of such intimate proximity?”

“Miss Fitzjames, we—we both know that I cannot.”

Harrumphing, James reached behind himself and untied his laces. His bodice and skirt were apparently knotted so loosely that they dropped right off, so James could toss them aside and reveal the elaborate trousseau beneath.

“Of course I wish to remain fully unknown for now,” said James, rather archly for someone who was wearing black-and-white striped stockings that extended all the way past his knees, and were held in place by white lacy garters. Paired with naught but his stays and ruffled pink breeches, he looked every bit the temptress. “But there are plenty of activities we may do together which do not require surrendering one’s honor.”

Seeing him in such frilly finery knocked the breath from Francis’s lungs.  “Oh, god.”

“Mm.” James pursed his lips in a pleased way. “You shall be saying more of  _ that _ , sir, if I may have my way with you.”

Dumbfounded, not even needing to act the fool, Francis simply nodded.

“Then pray, allow me to lead,” said Miss Fitzjames. In two strides, she had crossed to the bed, bent Francis over the mattress, and was sliding clever fingers along his neck and shoulder.

Francis shuddered and pushed his hips against the bed, already hard. 

His companion merely giggled.  “Hello, there.” She ran two gloved fingers down the knobs of his spine, stopping just at the small of his back. “Now, should you wish me to dispense with these games at any moment, I would have you say a single word. Repeat it after me, now: Scrooge.”

“God,” huffed Francis, with slightly more amusement than was necessary.

“Repeat it,” came the unamused reprimand, along with a soft _thwack!_ of the lady’s lace fan at his shoulder.

Francis jumped at the contact. “Scrooge.” 

“Good. Let’s begin.”

Francis let out a sigh as Miss Fitzjames traced her closed fan over the contours of his back, running one corner of it down past where her hand lingered, then brushed its full length over his still-clothed backside.

“You have a beautiful figure, you know.” Her fan opened with a soft click, lace now tracing lovingly over each flank before dipping between them. Even through the clothes, this caress felt divine. “One of the many aspects I first admired about you.”

“Mmph.”

“I should like to turn it pink as a spring flower,” said Miss Fitzjames. With a  _ snap,  _ she closed her fan and brought the missile down onto his bottom, rapping him softly at first, and then again, slightly harder. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, miss.”

The lady hummed in appreciation, leaning forward to kiss Francis’s neck and scratch her blunt nails through the top of his hair; Francis strained into the intimate touch, desperately wanting her to move closer.

“I – I would have your fingers, please. As you do it.”

“Oh ho.” Although Francis could not see her face, the note of amusement in her voice was positively divine. “You are rather naughty. But it would please me to do it on one condition. Do you know what that condition is?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Tell me.” James sounded as if he were smiling.

“I – I have to—control myself.”

“Mm.” She exhaled a soft breath on the back of Francis’s neck; gooseflesh rippled down his body in a wave. “Pray, answer me how.”

“Can’t—” Francis tried to calm his shallow breathing, very purposefully inhaling and exhaling in a gust. “Can’t come. Till you let me.”

“Capital,” said Miss Fitzjames, and sank her teeth into the back of Francis’s neck, as a wolf might take its mate; Francis yelped and bucked up hard before she licked this bite away with a gentle swipe of her tongue. “Then I shall ready you.”

She divested him of the last of his robe before kissing a leisurely, open-mouthed trail down Francis’s back, bending between his spread legs and nipping softly at the meat of his buttocks before proceeding to her real prize.

The second her tongue flickered over him, warm and wet and obscene beyond measure, his knees quaked, and he fisted the coverlet in both hands as his balls drew up tight.

“Jesus Christ.”

Miss Fitzjames moaned against him so loudly he could feel it rumble through his body, and his hips jerked forward again as she laved her tongue over him for several minutes, pressing and circling and caressing him till he was dripping with precome, and trying not to rut into the bed the way he so desperately wanted.

When she removed her mouth, and breached him with that first slick finger, so smoothly his entire body lit up in a sudden jolt of delight, he reared back, gasping, and could not force words past his throat although he  _ knew  _ he was supposed to say something.

“No, no, no, wait.” His eyes fluttered closed as he tried to prop himself up and only increased the pleasurable tension inside him, slumping forward against his fists with a whimper. “Can’t.  _ Can’t. _ ”

A pause. “Do you remember our word, sir?”

“Yes, but—” Francis recalled another game they had played, a warning word that did not mean  _ stop _ “—marigold. Marigold.”

“Ah,” said Miss Fitzjames, gently stroking one shoulder with her clean hand. “All right, then. You’re doing wonderfully, my darling. That’s exactly right.”

“‘S really good,” whispered Francis through a deeper, full-body shudder, as his body screamed to be filled further, begged for release. “‘M trying.”

“I know you are, sweet thing.” Leaning in, she kissed his crown; Francis caught a trace of her rosewater perfume. “You work so hard to keep composed, do you not?”

“I do, miss.”

“Then breathe, dear man. In and out.”

As she darted across the room to wash off her hand, Francis did so, tried to keep the heat in his belly at bay.

“There you are.” When she touched him again, it was gentle and easy; a light caress at the back of his neck with a handkerchief dipped in cool water. “Relax.”

“All right.” 

His muscles eased slightly as she soothed him back from the edge, then knelt beside him to kiss him, slow and sweet. By the time a flare of heat rose in his chest again, she pulled back, smirking, and traced the outline of his kiss-swollen lips with the pad of her thumb.

“Now, darling. Are you ready for me to take you?”

“Yes, miss.”

Francis was always ready for her; he would be as quiet as a hunting tiger if it meant he could satisfy her. Could be claimed without restraint. He reveled in these quiet moments between them, when she was not a great lady and he was not a Captain: here he could be merely a man to her woman, the Hephaestus to her Athena, powerless against her fierce grace.

Slipping her breeches down her legs, then stepping back into position, Miss Fitzjames spread him wide and pushed into him, slow and insistent, causing Francis to cry out when she was finally buried to the hilt.

“Oh!”

“Yes,” she hissed, and pulled him closer, her grip on his hips fiercer than ever. “Oh, Captain, how beautiful you feel inside.”

“Jesus Christ,” whimpered Francis, burying his face in the bedspread.

“And I am going to take you as often as I please.” Miss Fitzjames increased her thrusts till each one was as slick and sharp as polished glass. “Every day I desire, no matter where we are, regardless of whether we may be caught—”

Francis whimpered aloud as she hit that place deep inside him.

“Oh, I see. You should like to be spotted, then?”

“Y – yes, miss.”

“By whom?”

Francis whimpered again as Miss Fitzjames stopped her pleasurable motions, canting his hips backwards in the vain hope that she would finish him.

She slapped his buttocks with a flat palm; not as hard as he desired, but soundly enough. “Tell me. And if you move again, I shall stop at once.”

“Hm—” he let out another, more desperate whimper “—your mother—”

“Oh,” purred Miss Fitzjames, one hand caressing the inside of his thigh; he shuddered. “You dirty little darling.”

E’en through a haze of need, Francis could still summon the old picture up in his mind; Sophia’s nimble fingers stroking and rubbing his most intimate place till he was completely insensible. She had covered his mouth with a hand to quiet him when—  
_Sophy! Are you awake, my dear? Uncle John and I are ready to take our tea._

_ “Thank you, Auntie Jane. I shall be there once I have washed up.”  _

_ As cheerful and prompt as if she’d just completed a leisurely walk!  _

_ Seconds later, as Jane’s footsteps faded down the hall, Sophia had leaned down to put her mouth next to Francis’s ear, then; the mere tickle of breath sending him shivering. _

_ “Come this instant,” she commanded, low and firm, and he had shuddered apart like never before, with Sophia’s hand over his mouth and her fingers deep inside him— _

“C–can’t stop—oh, fuck, James, pl– _ please let me _ —”

Quivering, legs nearly buckling with the effort of controlling his body, he made a high, strangled sound; Miss Fitzjames held him fast before slowly pushing in again, pressing her hips firmly against his own as she buried herself deeper.

“The lady will be here at any moment,” said Miss Fitzjames. “If we are caught together, she will toss you out on your ear, and you will be denied any release at all.”

“Nnnh,” begged Francis; his head swam and he felt dizzy from balancing on the excruciating knife-edge of pleasure, but he could think of nothing else save release. “Miss—”

“Quiet, my love. She must not hear you.”

Whining, his entire body poised on the brink, Francis bit the inside of his cheek as his lover stilled her motions, unable to tell whether it was ten seconds or a thousand before Miss Fitzjames leaned down again, her voice soft as ever.  “Come, Francis,” she whispered, and scraped his earlobe with her teeth just as she thrust up hard and fast.

The floor opened beneath him; Francis scrabbled against the bedspread, bucking, panting, gasping, before all his muscles turned to jelly and he collapsed face-first into the linens.

Breathing hard, Miss Fitzjames teased him through the aftershocks, both hands skating down his legs and between his thighs. “What if I got you a second time, hm?”

He was so dizzy that an answer was beyond him.

“Francis.” A pause; she adjusted her hold, bracing one hand on his outer thigh. “Did you hear me?”

It was as if she were speaking to him from a great distance; he had to answer her, but could not for the life of him remember why it was so important. Nothing mattered except her voice and her body pressed against his.

“Here, darling. Turn over.” 

Miss Fitzjames guided him further up the bed so he could lie down on his back instead of attempting to stand on wobbly legs. Lying down slightly atop him, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, passionately at first, then lighter and more chaste, till finally she pulled back, arms bracketing his head.

The floating haze in his head had now disappeared, leaving him exhausted.

“Better now?” asked his lover. It did not seem like the first time she had uttered these words.

Francis tried to speak, but could not, and choked on a sob.

“Shhhh.” Miss Fitzjames gathered his trembling form into her arms, guided him so he could pillow his head against her chest. “It’s all right, love.”

“‘M sorry, I-I don't mean to—”

“Hush, Francis,” James repeated, now stroking his hair. “I’m here.”

Francis tried to dash the tears from his eyes, but even his arms did not want to work properly. “James, I—”

“Just rest,” said James, and stroked slow circles into Francis’s upper back; Francis curled even tighter against his side as James kept speaking. “That was so lovely. You were wonderful.”

For several minutes, they said very little; Francis’s tears eventually giving way to calm breaths and finally to soft sighs as his body relaxed under James’s caresses.

Finally, perhaps ten or twenty minutes later, he raised his head from James's shoulder, blinking down at his lover in a rather sleepy fashion before placing a hand on James’s clean bare stomach.

“Hang on. Did you not—?”

“Hm?” James seemed puzzled, then glanced down. He was still half-hard, but seemed untroubled by it, shrugging away Francis’s confusion. “Oh, no. Too tired.”

“Oh,” said Francis, muzzy and half-asleep.  _ ‘S not what I wanted. _

James just leaned over and kissed his temple. “Only gives us an excuse to play again, wouldn’t you say?”

“Mm hm.” Francis’ eyes closed, and he shifted in James’s arms, treasuring their continued closeness. “The lady’s welcome at all hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More bottom/sub!Francis for you to enjoy! This has been sitting on my hard drive for awhile, so I figured I would finally share it with you lovely people. 😈😬


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, technically this one isn't The Dress, but it is A Dress, and it is a goddamn Look. :) Read as part of the "When You Need Me" verse, or on its own. Whatever suits your fancy!

Three-bloody-thirty A.M. on a bloody Florida vacation, and Francis was not only awake, but fully dressed, in spandex shorts and a custom workout t-shirt James was making him wear.

When the phrase “running costumes” had been uttered in his hearing, on the fateful day James decided they ought to take the family to the parks AND do the half-marathon on the same weekend, Francis had outright refused to wear anything except his old Navy gear.

After realizing he could not talk Francis out of this idea through sheer stubbornness, James had then pleaded with him, and then bribed him, and then bloody well pouted over his refusal to join in until he looked less like a man and more like a tragic puppy from one of those stupid ASPCA ads.

It was, Francis decided, the pouting that had done him in. And the fact that James had showed Francis the t-shirt in advance.

Made of a lightweight technical fabric, it was only vaguely a costume. By design, it was colorblocked and styled to look like he was wearing a green tunic over a plain white undershirt, with a belt over all of it and a gold-handled sword strapped to one side. But it wouldn’t scratch him, or look weird, or be too damn hot for humid thirty-degree weather.

And he’d worn black leggings underneath; not exactly sweatpants, but muted enough.

All things considered, Francis decided as he flicked at his safety-pinned race number, things really could’ve been worse.

“James,” he said through a yawn, moving toward the brightly-lit hotel bathroom, where James had ensconced himself with breakfast and all his race clothes in order to keep from waking Alice, “when do you think we should head to the—”

He was not shocked to see that James had ducked into the head, but the open pot of glitter that sat on the lip of the sink next to his toiletry bag was surprising. And worrying.

“Did—whose fucking sparkle dust is that, then?”

“Alice’s,” came the answer through the closed door.

“I assumed that. Why is it in your bag?”

“Because it’s part of my costume,” said James with a wry laugh, as he opened the door and stepped out into the light.

Francis’s mouth fell open. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Having foregone wearing his usual running gear or even a themed t-shirt to match Francis's, James was now wearing a taut, neon-green minidress made out of some kind of sequined stretch fabric. The skirt – if you could call it that, as it barely covered him up to mid-thigh – was cut in a filmy flower petal design. The bodice featured a low neckline which showcased thatches of dark chest hair, and was held up by two clear thick plastic straps – the sort of plastic you’d see on a pair of cheap diving goggles. And under this impossibly tiny dress, he wore a pair of black biking shorts.

There was glitter in James's hair, which was short and blonde – a wig, Francis realized – and glitter dusted all across his muscular arms and shoulders.

It was absurd. It was ridiculous. It was—well, Francis could not get his mind to contemplate this picture too closely. “James, how the hell are you going to run thirteen miles in  _ that _ ?”

“One step at a time, obviously,” answered James, whose grin had turned positively wolfish. “Well? What do you think?”

“I can’t even bloody look at you,” growled Francis, turning his face away and closing his eyes for several seconds, before his body could betray him. Tragically, no luck. Although he was so damn tired he was cross-eyed, of course he could still get a cockstand before having to go outside in bloody  _ spandex  _ at three in the morning, all with James at his side dressed like some anime vixen sprite.

“Oh.” And James laughed, damn him. “Suppose I won’t have to talk you into keeping me warm once we’re in the corrals, then.”

“I hate you.” Francis told him through a yawn, and shoved his long-sleeved flannel at the man. “Put a sweatshirt on, for god’s sake. You’ll catch cold.”

“You’re adorable,” said James, and kissed his temple. “If I wear  _ that _ , we won’t match.”

“Mmmph.”  Francis moved James away with one hand, but not before the damage was done; he got glitter all down one cheek and half his t-shirt.

“Come on, then,” James said, completely undeterred, although he was still a little bleary-eyed beneath the fluorescent lights. “Let’s go for a little run.”

“You’re insane,” growled Francis again, but he kissed James’s bare shoulder before he could stop himself, and tasted strawberries on his lips for the next two hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tinkerbell drag FTMFW. #HusbandGoals


End file.
